


Merlin & Morgana

by HamishMcCat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale was Merlin, Bastardized Monty Python Quotes, Crowley was Morgan le Fey, Historical silliness, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamishMcCat/pseuds/HamishMcCat
Summary: From the second Newt had begun to say the word “Excalibur,” Aziraphale's eyes had shot to Crowley and fixed him with a glare that might have discorperated a lesser demon. He didn't say a word, but just kept his eyes fixed on the demon's back until he began to squirm and finally turned to face the angel.“It has been over fifteen hundred bleeding years, Angel, why can't you just let this go? I got your ruddy sword back eventually!”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 159





	Merlin & Morgana

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by that old Monty Python bit and just really wanted an excuse for Aziraphale to call Crowley a watery tart.
> 
> The bit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sprrQ1OLW6g

When Crowley and Aziraphale argue, truly argue, not just drunkenly debate the intelligence of dolphins, it is an electric thing. The air shift and is heavy. Hairs stand on in. It feels like an oncoming storm, and instinct makes you want to run for cover. 

It started innocently enough with Newt leafing through one of the books that had appeared in the shop after Dooms Didn't. It was a rather large book of Arthurian legends, bound in red leather and filled with illuminated texts and fantastic medieval illustrations. 

If Crowley was paying any attention to what book Newt had picked up, he probably would have plucked it out of his hands and thrown it out the nearest window. But Crowley rarely paid much attention to what Newt was doing as long as he wasn't trying to touch Crowley's mobile. 

And so Newt, quite innocently, commented as he flipped through the pages, “As a boy, I always dreamed about what it would be like to wield Excalibur.”

The atmosphere in the flat above the bookshop changed in an instant. The hairs on Anathema’s arms stood as heavenly energy flooded the flat. She could almost see the pulse of magic in the air. 

Crowley's spine stiffened as much as his serpentine form ever allowed. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Why, in the name of all blessed things, did you have to bring  _ that _ up?” Crowley groaned. He resisted turning around, but he could feel Aziraphale's eyes boring into his back. 

From the second Newt had begun to say the word “Excalibur,” Aziraphale's eyes had shot to Crowley and fixed him with a glare that might have discorperated a lesser demon. He didn't say a word, but just kept his eyes fixed on the demon's back until he began to squirm and finally turned to face the angel.

“It has been over fifteen hundred bleeding years, Angel, why can't you just let this go? I got your ruddy sword back eventually!”

“You never should have had it in the first place!” Aziraphale's voice was like ice and made both Newt and Anathema shiver. 

“I said I was sorry.” 

“Sorry? Seriously Crowley, you can't just go lying in ponds distributing swords in some farcical aquatic ceremony! That's no basis for a system of government you…you great watery tart!” Aziraphale's anger lost a bit of it's spark as he struggled to spit out the insult. 

“Wat-watery tart?” Crowley stammered. 

The air in the shop shifted again. Demonic energy now over laid the angelic that had been hanging in the air. Player 2 had entered the game. 

“Excuse me, Angel?” Crowley raised himself up to his full height so that he could lord the few inches that he had over Aziraphale. “You know as well as I do, that my actions lead to one of the best governments that this Heaven forsaken island ever had! And as I recall you, weren't exactly fighting for the idea that supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses rather than divine providence. It’s rich for  _ you _ to complain about interference, Pendragon.” Crowley drew out the last word like it was a curse. It hung in the crackling air between the two. 

Newt dropped the book of legends, which landed with a soft thump on the floor. In a voice barely more than a whisper, with awe and reverence, Newt breathed out, “Merlin and Morgana.”

The book, in some sort of divine coincidence, fell open to a full page illustration of Merlin and Morgana posed over a table laden with food and wine, Morgana in a flowy black and blood red gown with long wavy copper hair, and Merlin with snow white hair and equally white robes. The storybook would depict this as the start of a great Wizard's Duel between the two, but more than likely was the start of a lovely evening of dinner and drinking. 

Anathema looked between the illustration and the two beings standing before her, posed above the coffee table in nearly an identical manner. 

“No, no, no, no, no. You can't be her! I know witches who practically worship her!” Anathema struggled out. 

Crowley gave a small shrug and an apologetic half smile and offered, “Well, they say ‘never meet your heroes.’”

The magic was slowly seeping out of the room as the tension faded. Crowley and Aziraphale's arguments rarely lasted long. They were both quite a bit more bark than bite, and affection, more often than not, overwhelmed their anger. 

Newt stared at Aziraphale, open mouthed. “I grew up on Arthurian stories! I practically have the all of Disney’s ‘The Sword in the Stone’ memorized.”

Aziraphale looked wounded and Crowley snorted with laughter. 

“I will have you know,” Aziraphale declared, with righteous indignation, “that I have never, in my entire six thousand years of existence, ever worn a pair of Bermuda shorts.”

He turned back to Crowley with sadness in his eyes. “Why do they always portray me as so  _ old _ ?”

“Well, you were well over four thousand years old at the time,” Aziraphale flashed Crowley his saddest puppy dog eyes, “but you didn't look a day over one thousand. And that recent BBC series had you quite young.”

Aziraphale pouted. “Too young. And so awkward.”

“Yes, well. What about that NBC one in the 90's? You can't complain about Sam Neill.”

Aziraphale looked a little wistful. “No, I can't complain about Sam Neill. And you we gorgeous in that one as well.”

“Ahhhh, yes, Helena Bonham Carter. No complaints from me.”

As the two debated, Newt thought over the various versions of Arthurian legends he had heard. 

“Wait, if you're Morgan le Fey, does that mean you... _ slept with _ King Arthur?” Newt blushed and lowered his voice to a whisper for the last part as though he wasn't sitting next to his lover and in the home of two beings who were well exceeded the age of consent in any culture. 

Crowley scrubbed his hands over his face and mumbled, “Let's have human friends he said. It will be fun he said.” Crowley then rounded on Aziraphale. “These humans will be the death of me, and it will be all your fault. I might just discorperate on the spot.”

And because he had quite a large dramatic streak, Crowley proceeded to literally melt into the floorboards while muttering, “Slept with Arthur? Pssshhhh. He should have been so lucky.”

Since they were in the flat above the shop, Crowley did not descend into the bowels of Hell, where he frankly had absolutely no desire to go, but rather came crashing down from the ceiling into the bookshop. He made quite a spectacular racket, taking several large stacks of books out with him. 

“My books!” Aziraphale cried and hurried towards the stairs. 

From below came the muffled shout, “I’m fine, Angel, thanks for your concern.”

Before he went down the stairs, Aziraphale turned back to Newt and Anathema. 

“You really have to take all those legends with a grain of salt, my dears. They were written centuries after the fact and were often highly embellished.”

As he headed down the stairs, Anathema couldn't help but think of another book that might fall into that same category. She decided to hold her tongue, since the recently-separated-from-Heaven angel might not appreciate the sentiment. 

Another thought suddenly occurred to Anathema and she shouted at Aziraphale as he hurried down the stairs. “Weren’t Merlin and Morgana a couple?”

It was Crowley’s voice that come wafting up from the shop, the smirk and wink as obvious as if he were in the room, “Oh, he was so lucky.”

  
  



End file.
